


Mind Palace Journals

by 221Bme



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Шерлок Холмс | Sherlock Holmes (TV 2013)
Genre: BBC, Confusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Instrospection, Journal, Lonliness, Mind Palace, Self-analysis, Sherlock - Freeform, thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221Bme/pseuds/221Bme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock takes night walks about London, and does a bit of thinking.</p><p>*I suddenly thought of this idea of an 'introspective Sherlock before John' while I was out on a walk-no idea if the actual application will really work, and I found that writing in first person, especially for him, was incredibly difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flatmate[?]

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just an experiment based on an idea I had. It might be terrible, or it might be okay. We'll just see.

I am completely free of my addiction, now.

I did my time in rehab, and now I've been released back into the 'real world' where I can do as I like once again. However, when you've been through a process like that the world is slightly different.

I needed a place to stay, so my brother provided me with a tiny, temporary flat. But I can't stay there forever.

I need a  _real_  flat.

The problem there is that I can't afford one on my own, and my brother doesn't really believe I should-doesn't think I'm trustworthy, or capable, or something... So that leaves finding a flatmate.

But honestly... Who would want to share a flat with  _me?_

I won't explain the reasons fully, because this record is me speaking to myself, in my own mind; I'm not crazy, so long as I know that no one else but me is going to reply. I'm just organising thoughts, and cataloguing them.

Usually I would have much better things to do than this-in fact I'd rather be working-but things have been extraordinarily boring, for the time being.

I'm left with this odd, stupidly introspective mood that sometimes strikes me when I walk the streets of London at night, as I've done a lot recently.

My brother pretends he doesn't know I do it. But he's probably got someone watching.

_Just in case._

In case I do something he wouldn't like-or in case something goes wrong.

There are quite a few people in this world who don't like me very much. But that's not surprising. There are very few, if any, who do.

I don't have friends.

I have  _enemies,_  and my brother is one of them.

But I digress; this is all information I already know.  _This introspection is really getting to me..._

Tonight is rather crisp, as mummy would say. I can see my breath when I pass under streetlights; the stars look sharp, almost as if they could cut you.

And I'm going to hazard a guess and say it's probably going to snow tonight.

The boredom is so intense that it actually  _hurts._  There's an ache in my chest... A sort of hollow that only a case will fill, temporarily. Which is why I need one so badly.

_I'm going to delete these unimportant memories later._

I haven't had a case in  _ages._  Lestrade may believe that I am still compromised from my addiction, or perhaps he doesn't want to have the Yard related to anyone who's been labeled a 'druggy.'

I'm sure he'll be back, eventually.

They  _need_  me.

I  _know_  he'll be back.

Maybe if I offered to be flatmates with someone like Molly Hooper...? She'd agree-I know she would, she's just kind like that-but that would get annoying much too fast...

She'd be much too talkative. Besides, it's not a good idea to be flatmates with coworkers, really.

Not that we're coworkers, but she does work in the morgue, and I do go there fairly often.

It just goes along with being a consulting detective.

So, no Molly...

There  _is_  a flat I've had my eye on. It's a nice one, comfortable, and it's owned by a woman who owes me a favour, so I'm sure she'd give me a cut rate, so if I could  _just find that other person..._

But like I said, I doubt anybody would want to share a flat with me.

Even Molly would leave eventually.

People do that, after all.

It's a fact of life.

They leave.

My hands are getting numb. I can't feel my cheeks anymore. But the cold air does wake you up; it hurts a bit if you breathe too deeply. Which is good for me, because I don't need to sleep right now.

I need to be thinking. I have a problem in front of me, and I need to fix it.

Not half as interesting as a murder, but... It's something.

And yet, it's not enough to satisfy, honestly. My mind is scratching itself raw. I'm grabbing at straws and my thoughts are becoming far too repetitive and mundane.

This is about the time where I would previously have decided to shoot up.

_But I'm not going to do that._

I'm clean now.

And it's staying that way.

I feel hollo- _I feel **bored.**_


	2. Questions

_I found someone._

_I found a flatmate._

_I found a human being who says he wants to share a flat with me._

_I..._

Of course, I can't let myself get caught up in what people say. He'll probably change his mind. He'll get fed up after a while.

But I'll take it while it lasts.

How do I take it, though?

This is all odd-he doesn't say the things most do. He says the strangest things when I make even simple deductions...

_'Fantastic.'_

_'Amazing.'_

_'Brilliant.'_

Those are strongly positive words-too positive? Could he possibly have an agenda? No. But then, I'm not sure why...

I can't help but smile.

I don't know what to call this feeling.

It feels... warm.

No-forget that-stupid-it's just... It makes me happy.

That sounds even more idiotic when I say it out loud.

Regardless...

I like it.

The only other records I can find in here of that sort of praise came from mummy. But that doesn't count. She's supposed to say that. Parents are  _supposed_  to be doting, when you do see them.

So perhaps it means more, because he doesn't have to.

The room in this palace designated to John Watson is a bit too bare for my liking, at the moment. I need to know more.

Only because we'll be living together, of course. I should know things about him.

That's common sense.

His limp is a pity... But one we can get around.

I'll need him as agile as possible, if he's going to help me.

Hm...

He really is going to help.

I finally got a case, too-so the ache is rather dissipated. It's helping to fill the hollow. I can finally exercise my mind again, fully.

It gets so boring, holding back.

I don't get to use my intellect to its full extent when conversing with normal people.

But never mind that now-I've got a real case.

And I've got a flatmate.

_And more questions._


	3. Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's short. That may be the nature of this story.

I almost lost him.

So soon, and I  _almost lost him..._

There were other victims, in the course of this case. I did what I do best and didn't let myself worry about them, for the time being, because I can focus better that way.  
And that works.

But  _this..._

The moment I'd realised that Moriarty had chosen John as his next victim... to outfit him with explosives...

I think something in my mind broke.

Not literally, but-all of a sudden, it became so much more difficult to maintain that necessary distance, that composure.  _Impossible, even._

I'm going to say it here, once, and then I'm going to delete it forever:

_I was afraid._

Not for me, obviously, so it wasn't a childish sort of fear, and there was a perfectly good reason for it.

I was afraid I'd lose my blogger.

But I don't believe that was the label I gave him in my head, at the time. I called him...  
 _...friend?_

Did I really? I should know better...

But I couldn't help it. At the time, I just wanted to make everything safe. To save him. So I made a decision; I weighed the worth of the two things at stake. The memory stick full of government secrets-or the life of John Watson?

I hardly had to think about it.

Damn the government.

_I need my blogger._


	4. Just like flying

I've had to do it again.

On a much bigger scale. Weigh the worth of the two things at stake... And I've come to a conclusion.  _It's a good thing I'm not afraid of heights._

I have to die.

I won't, actually, but... He has to  _think_  I have.

This week has been... that is... this month... it's been uncomfortable. I could even say it's been painful.

Realising.

I think about what I have to do, and... Quite honestly I feel... how do I say this?-it  _hurts._  It feels heavy. I don't know exactly why.  
I know it's going to hurt him-but I'll come back... And then everything will be alright.

It  _will_  be.

It  _has_  to be.

It'll be fine...

_I worry about John._

What if he isn't fine, afterward?

I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't think without being distracted.  _Why now, when I have to focus?!_

But it'll be fine.

I have to tell myself that. I have to believe that.  
Because it means they'll be safe.

I'll 'die,' and they'll live.

Simple.

_So why is this so strangely painful?_

Is it because I'll miss them? Miss my blogger? I will, but...

The closest word I can think of to describe this pervasive feeling is... guilt. But that can't be.

I'm doing the right thing.

I'm  _saving my best friend's life._

How can that be wrong?

And yet I feel wrong. For leaving him. For having to make him believe I've killed myself. It's necessary, but...  
Never-mind.

It  _is_  necessary.

I'm sure I can distract myself by using my brain and taking down Moriarty's web. That's also necessary, so that I can return eventually.

_I feel so desperately alone._

No.

 _ **No,**_  I didn't mean to say that.

I'm just...

_..._

I need to delete all of this.

_Now._

* * *

Jumping off a building is easier than you'd think.

It's just like flying, but with a more permanent destination.

I'll be fine.

There were just a few things I wanted to say, before I fell, but I didn't get the chance to.

I wanted to apologise.

Genuinely. If only to ease this feeling.

I wanted to explain, but I can't.

I wanted desperately to feel human contact, there on the ledge, but I couldn't. I had to go by myself. I had to just pretend that our outstretched hands could touch.

I'm sorry.

It didn't go according to plan, and when I saw how terrified you looked... I didn't have to act. Not really.

But I  _will_  come back.

I'll see you again.

Someday.

I heard what you asked of me.

...Oh, but just one more thing...

John...?

_I don't feel so hollow anymore._


End file.
